Hundreds Of Tiny Threads
by EFAW
Summary: Marriage is just surviving one day to the next…together. Twelve vignettes of Travis and Wes's first year of married life. Oneshot. Wesvis.


**Summary: **Marriage is just surviving one day to the next…together. Twelve vignettes of Travis and Wes's first year of married life. Oneshot. Wesvis.

**Warnings: **Wesvis slash. Gay marriage. Mentions of sex. Adorable sappy domesticity.

**Disclaimer: **I neither own nor am affiliated with Common Law in any way, which makes me sad.

**Written based off a prompt on tumblr by **_**mizufallsfromkumo**_**, who is an awesome writer and has a ton of great story ideas. I saw the post and I felt a need. I would post the url to the prompt but won't let me.**

**OOOO**

**Hundreds Of Tiny Threads**

"_Chains do not hold a marriage together. It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years."_

_~Simone Signoret_

It's all Dr. Ryan's fault.

Her homework is 'First Date Night'. The couples are supposed to have a date night, but pretend as though they're meeting for the very first time, as a way of learning more about their partners. She tells Travis and Wes that they're not allowed to talk about work, and then tells them to have fun.

They're not going to do it at first. The plan is to bullshit their way through and make stuff up, like usual. But Dr. Ryan has gotten savvy to their ways, so she makes it a challenge. Can they actually do the assignment and learn something new when no one else thinks they can?

And if there's one way to get Wes and Travis to do something, it's to tap into their competitive streaks.

So they go. They do the assignment. And it's good, better than either of them expected. They report their success to the group in next week's session, and then, the week after that, they quietly go on a second date.

Within two months, they're dating for real. Within six, they've confessed to the group and to Captain Sutton about their relationship.

After ten months, Travis says, "This is the longest relationship I've ever had, and I can't imagine myself with anyone else," and Wes says, "I love you too."

The rest, as they say, is history.

* * *

_**MAY**_

Dr. Ryan officiates the wedding. She has a certification because many of her successfully rehabilitated couples want her to renew their vows and whatnot, and it seems only fitting. After all, she's the reason they ended up together in the first place.

It's not a very large ceremony. There's the therapy group, a few people from work, Alex, and a handful of Travis's extended foster family. The ceremony is done in the backyard of the captain's house, with a few streamers and lights hung for decoration. Wes has already done the big ceremony, and it's not like Travis has ever dreamed of something like this happening, so having it small and cozy is enough.

They write their own vows.

Travis: "Before I met you, I wasn't one for commitment. I couldn't imagine being with the same person for a month, let alone the rest of my life. But then I met you, and we clicked, and it was so good. Even before we were dating, the longest relationship I've ever had has been with you, and now I can't imagine my life without you in it. It seems like we were always heading here, to this moment in time.

"From now on, I promise to stand by your side, no matter what happens, and always have your back. I promise to always love you, even when I don't like you very much. I promise to never leave you alone when you need me, to be your best friend and your lover and your partner, from now until the end of time."

Wes: "You infuriate me. You know all the buttons to push to set me off, and some days I just want to throttle you. But you also make me laugh. You know the best way to make me feel better when I'm having a bad day. You pull me out of my head, when I'd get lost otherwise. I was broken, and you made me whole again. You are the other half of my soul, and without you, I would be nothing.

"I vow to love and cherish you the way you always deserved to be, from this moment until I draw my last breath. To protect you, both in the field and off it, and to always lend you a helping hand or a shoulder to lean on when you need support. I vow to always be there when you need me, and leave you be when you don't, but to never, ever leave you alone. I love you. You are my partner, and this is absolute."

The rings are simple silver bands, plain on the outside. On the inside, four dates are engraved: the day Paekman introduced them; the day they got partnered together; the day they started therapy, which eventually led to here; and today, their wedding day. Because those are the four most important days they've had together.

Dr. Ryan's eyes are shining when they exchange the rings. She's not the only one with tears in her eyes.

"I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom."

Everyone cheers. The therapy group cheers loudest of all.

* * *

_**JUNE**_

"So, Travis, how is married life?"

Travis grins at Kate and Amy and reclines in his chair. "It's great, actually. Wes is so domestic it hurts."

"Shut up, dear," Wes says tonelessly from his desk.

"It's true!" Travis exclaims. "Whenever he stays over, he spends like half an hour cleaning my stuff. Now, I'm not a slob, but Wes makes the place look _sparkling_. We're going to have the nicest house in the neighborhood."

"So you are getting a house?" Amy asks, perching on the edge of Travis's desk.

"We're still looking," Wes says, and throws a highlighter at Travis's head. Without looking. Needless to say, it hits the target.

"And he's cooking. For me! I have _leftovers_!" Travis sounds way too excited about the prospect. "Seriously, it's the best thing ever. He even puts sticky notes on the containers with little hearts!"

"I will stab you in the neck," Wes growls, looking up from his report only long enough to send a scathing glare at his husband.

Travis ignores him.

"And the sex!" Travis continues unabated. "Oh my god, the sex is _fantastic_. Wes does yoga, see, so he's bendy in _aaall_ the right places." He waggles his eyebrows at the two female detectives, as though to convey not only the magnitude of Wes's flexibility but _all_ the enjoyment Travis is getting out of it. "We're still in what Dr. Ryan calls the 'honeymoon' stage of our relationship, so we just do it all the time and it's great."

"Travis, if you don't stop talking about our sex life there will _be_ no sex life to talk about for the foreseeable future," Wes intones, fingers tightening around his pen.

Travis looks at Wes's face. Wes stares stonily back.

With a blink and a smile for Kate and Amy, Travis says, "Sorry ladies, no more talking about how wonderfully adorable Wes is when he's being a homemaker."

The two women snicker. "My god, Travis, you are so whipped," Amy sniggers, hopping off Travis's desk.

"I am not!" Travis protests, sitting up. "But you don't understand. I was not made to go without sex, and sex with Wes is amazing enough that any amount of silence is worth it."

"Travis…" Wes warns, one eye twitching.

Travis snaps his mouth shut.

Amy makes a whip sound with accompanying hand motions, and they both walk off laughing. Wes just goes back to his papers and says, "You should know better."

Travis grumbles under his breath and slouches in a sulk.

* * *

_**JULY**_

"I'm not carrying you into the house." Wes glowers at Travis. "And you're not carrying me."

Travis drops his arms. He pouts as Wes gets out of the car, but by the time he's standing on the front porch, he's practically bouncing in place. Wes pulls out the key, and they both stare at it.

"Let me do it," Travis demands, and Wes hands it over. Travis slides it in the lock, unlocks the door, then pauses, because he has a sense of anticipation. This is it. This is the moment. When they step through this doorway, they will no longer be homeless. They will have a home and it will be _theirs_ and Travis can hardly breathe for the thought.

"Oh, just do it already."

"Shut up and let me have this moment, mister previous homeowner," Travis grumbles, but he pushes open the door anyway.

It's the same house they saw at the showing, but the air and light and smell just seem _different_ now that it's _theirs_. Travis stops in the front hall, clutching the key in his hand, and takes a deep breath.

Wes stands beside him, hands on his hips, looking around in satisfaction. He's backlit by the open doorway and the light casts a glow around his face and it's perfect, it's just absolutely perfect.

"You know what this means?" Travis purrs lecherously, sliding the key into his pocket. He'll put it on his key ring later and it will be everything he's ever wanted.

Wes closes his eyes, a smile on his lips. "This means we can finally file our change of address forms with the captain."

Travis stares at him. Travis gapes.

Travis wraps his arms around Wes's waist and lets out a bark of laughter. "You are such a _lawyer_, Wes."

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thi—"

Travis cuts off Wes's indignation with a kiss, pulling back with a lascivious grin on his face. "While that's all well and good," he murmurs, walking his fingers up Wes's chest, "and we should totally get on that later, _I_ was thinking of something a little more immediate. And intimate."

Wes melts a little in Travis's arms. "Like what?"

"We own a house now." Travis grins. "That means we get to christen every. Single. Room. With sex," he adds, just in case Wes is slow on the uptake.

Slowly, Wes grins back.

* * *

_**AUGUST**_

"Let me get this straight." Wes pinches the bridge of his nose. "You _lost _your _wedding ring._" Travis does that thing where he shuffles his feet and looks at the ground and nods (the one where he looks so much like a guilty little boy). Wes sighs. "_How? _It's only been three months."

"It's not like I did it on _purpose_," Travis bristles, straightening in annoyance. "I was filleting the fish like you asked me to, _because I am a good and loving husband_, and I went to wash my hands because _ew_, fishguts, and then it just…sort of…slipped off."

Wes closes his eyes and takes a breath. "Why?"

"Um. Fishguts, I assume."

"No, not 'why did the ring slip off'. I mean, why were you wearing it while you cooked?"

Travis looks sheepish and guilty again. "I dunno. I'm not used to it, I guess. I just didn't think to take it off. By the time I realized I was still wearing it, it was already down the drain."

"I see." Wes drops his hand and gives his husband a look. "You didn't stick your hand down the garbage disposal, did you?"

Travis sends a scathing look back. "Yes, because I'm a _complete_ idiot, Wes. Of course not."

"Good." Wes takes a breath and turns to the back door. "I'll go get my toolbox, then. Maybe we'll get lucky and it's caught in the J-bend."

Wes, as it turns out, is not the handyman he likes to think he is, which is why, twenty minutes later, Travis is doubled over laughing as Wes sloshes through two inches of water to call the plumber.

They both blame each other, of course.

* * *

_**SEPTEMBER**_

Dr. Ryan asks, "Does anyone have anything they'd like to share with the group?" and Travis's hand shoots up.

"Alex got us a dog," Travis announces. Everyone makes _oohs_ and _aahs_.

"A dog?" Dr. Ryan asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I picked it out, but she bought it," Travis says. "It was our wedding present. Belated, obviously."

"Alex got us the toaster oven," Wes says shortly, "she didn't need to get us the dog."

"I take it you weren't involved in this process, Wes?" Dr. Ryan directs the question to the blonde.

Wes crosses his arms. "It was a surprise," Wes admits. The tone of his voice suggests that it was not, perhaps, a _good_ surprise.

"Alex thought a dog would be good for us," Travis enthuses, waving his hands exuberantly. "Wes won't admit he liked taking care of Hudson, and I love dogs, and it's good training for when we have kids."

"You're planning on having children?" Dr. Ryan asks, and makes a note on her pad.

Wes shoots her a narrow-eyed look. "We're talking about the dog Travis got me without my consent."

Thankfully, Dr. Ryan takes the hint and moves on.

"He's a great dog," Travis continues. "He's fourteen months old, because Alex and I both agreed that a puppy was _not_ the sort of surprise that would make Wes love us forever—" There are sympathetic nods around the circle; an annoyed vein in Wes's jaw jumps. "—and he's _huge_, he's like eighty pounds but he thinks he's a lap dog. He's a rescued mutt, and he is just the sweetest thing ever. Though he can totally rip your face off if he wants to. It's great."

"It's a pain in the ass," Wes snarks.

"Come on, you love our dog and you know it." Travis informs the group, "He pretended to hate the dog, but he cuddles it every night like a teddy bear."

"That's slander," Wes says.

Travis just grins. "I have pictures."

"You said you deleted those."

Travis pulls out his phone and passes it to Mr. Dumont. "See, look, it's the background on my phone. Isn't it just the _sweetest thing_?"

"Dammit Travis! Give me the phone!"

Ten minutes later, after a minor scuffle on the floor, they're back in their seats and Dr. Ryan has confiscated the phone.

"What's his name?" Dakota asks.

"We don't know yet," Wes mutters, still a little embarrassed at the stupid picture.

"His name is technically Spot, but we both agree that that's a stupid name, so we're going to come up with something different."

"I like Solomon," Wes adds, which doesn't mean he's thought about the matter much, it's just a name he kind of sort of likes.

"You would," Travis retorts, and smiles winningly at the group. "We're still deciding on names."

Wes rolls his eyes and silently starts debating how to best get that picture off Travis's phone.

* * *

_**OCTOBER**_

By the time Wes is done with his shower and steps out of the bathroom, Travis is awake and waiting. It's only eight, which means Wes has already been up for like an hour and has probably done all sorts of productive shit, because Wes is ridiculous like that. (Travis made it clear from the start that this relationship wasn't going to work if Wes insisted on waking Travis before nine on their days off. Wes took that advice and has acted accordingly ever since.)

"Morning," Wes says with a smile, patting Solomon's head as he turns towards the closet. (Travis has agreed to call the dog Solomon only because Wes brainwashed the animal and now that's all the dog responds to.)

"Come here," Travis demands, waving an imperious arm. Wes gives him a half-annoyed, half-fond look.

"I'm not kissing you before you brush your teeth," Wes says, but he comes over anyway. This gives Travis the perfect opportunity to grab the other man's arm and pull him down for a kiss. Really, Wes should know better by now.

When Wes pulls back, he's got his suspicious _Travis you did something I don't really like_ face. "You _did_ brush your teeth!" he accuses.

"Yes I did," Travis says smugly, tugging Wes back into bed. Wes struggles, but only half-heartedly; Travis likes to think it's his winning smile and devilish charm that wins his husband over.

"When did you brush your teeth?" Wes demands, lying back and allowing Travis to drape across his chest.

"While you were singing in the shower," Travis admits, smirking at the face Wes pulls. Yes, Wes _does_ sing in the shower, and he's actually pretty good, and it still amuses Travis to no end.

"Travis," Wes starts, and Travis cuts in before Wes can rant. Wes doesn't like it when Travis comes in the bathroom while he's showering; Travis has tried to explain why this is stupid, since they routinely see each other naked while having happily married sex, but Wes is stubborn.

"We should have a lazy Sunday morning," Travis exclaims, using his innocently beguiling face. "Because I'm pretty sure you don't the meaning of the term, and being up so early on our day off is annoying."

Wes frowns. "Travis, it's Wednesday."

"Even better!" Travis thumps lightly on Wes's chest. "It's easy to have a lazy Sunday. It's _so much_ harder to have a lazy weekday."

"I have things to do," Wes protests, pushing at Travis. Travis was prepared for this eventuality. He calls a sharp, "Solomon! Hold him down!" and goes limp across Wes's torso. Solomon leaps onto the bed and drapes his entire eighty pounds across Wes's legs, tail thumping against the bed and a happy grin on his doggy face.

Wes struggles, of course, because he's not one to take this sort of thing lying down, but he doesn't win. Travis has a good thirty pounds on him, at least, and Solomon is a very big dog.

"Off, you big lump," Wes grumbles, shoving at Travis's shoulders.

Travis refuses to be budged. "Can't get rid of me that easy, darlin'. We're having a lazy Wednesday morning, and nothing you say will make me change my mind."

Travis knows the instant Wes gives in, because his husband's entire body relaxes. Wes rolls his eyes at Travis's catty grin and huffs, "Only until ten. I _do_ have things to do today, you know."

"Sure," Travis agrees. But he's pretty sure he can convince Wes to stay in bed until noon.

* * *

_**NOVEMBER**_

Wes blinks out of his thoughts when the water stops. He frowns down at the hose, then turns and scowls at Travis. "I was using that."

"You stopped 'using' and have long passed the line into 'abusing'," Travis says, sounding both concerned and amused. When he steps onto the lawn, the ground squishes. Wes is willing to admit that Travis may have a point.

"So what's wrong, hun?"

Wes starts winding the hose up as Travis crosses the yard. He ignores the mud clinging to his shoes and silently apologizes to the lawn for overwatering it. "Nothing's wrong," he denies weakly. He ignores Travis's disbelieving look and squelches across the grass.

"You say that," Travis says, following him, "but I've never seen you this distracted. And last night you washed everything in the kitchen. Three times."

"I like things clean." It sounds feeble in Wes's ears, and Travis scoffs.

"This is about that message your mother left, isn't it?" Travis demands, and oh, how does Travis always hit the nail on the head?

Wes carefully starts to wind the hose up, forcing himself to calm. "She wants us to come over for Thanksgiving. Why? She hasn't wanted me to come to her house since I quit the firm. And now all of a sudden she wants me to visit? No. This is a set-up. She heard I got married again and she wants me to bring you along so she can verbally eviscerate you."

"She can't be all that bad," Travis offers hesitantly.

Wes laughs bitterly. "Oh yes she can. She's judgmental and prejudiced and she hides it all beneath a perfect veneer of respectability." He slants a sideways glance at his husband. "She would hate you, and you would know it within five minutes."

"Everybody loves me."

"Not my mother. You're—" Wes bites his lip, shakes his head.

Travis presses. "I'm…what? Black? A foster kid? Male? Why would she hate me?"

"You're a cop," Wes sighs, dropping the neatly coiled hose by the shed. "Although you being a man wouldn't help." He runs his hand over his face. "And that's just my mother. We're not even going to get _into_ my father right now."

"Okay," Travis agrees, because he may push more often than Wes likes, but he also knows when Wes has been pushed to his limits, and they're at the point where he doesn't try to do that anymore. Wes appreciates that.

"Do you want to go? They are your parents," Travis says, his side pressing against Wes's. Wes leans into the support, dropping his head onto his husband's shoulder with a tired sigh as he admits, "I don't know. I really don't, Trav."

"Okay." Travis runs his hands through Wes's hair; Wes closes his eyes and allows himself to be soothed. "But keep this in mind. I have eighteen foster moms who would be _more_ than happy to let us crash their Thanksgiving celebrations. Or we can stay home and do our own thing too. Remember, you're the decider; you're allowed to tell your parents no."

Wes chuckles a little and loops his arm in Travis's. "That's cheating, using my own words from therapy against me."

"I don't think it is," Travis says jovially, steering Wes towards the front door. Wes allows it. "Come on, let's let the lawn dry out for a bit. I'll find us something to eat and we can figure out what we want to do."

Wes smiles and presses a kiss to Travis's neck. "You're good to me."

Travis gives him a flirty grin and says, "I know," and Wes laughs for the first time since getting his mother's message.

* * *

_**DECEMBER**_

"Alright, Wes, are you ready for the awesomeness that is _Inception_?"

"I don't know, Travis, am I?"

"I don't think you are. Prepare to have your mind _blown_."

"Oh no, Travis, you are _not_ bringing that in here."

"What? We can't have movie night without popcorn!"

"We just put in new carpet, we most certainly _can_."

"You seriously believe I'm going to spill?"

"I've seen you eat."

"Then you know that I'm a grown-ass man who can eat without spilling!"

"Most of the time."

"…okay, you have a point, but this time I will not spill."

"Swear on the dog."

"What?"

"You're always telling me how much you love the dog. So swear on the dog you won't spill."

"Fine. I swear on Solomon that I won't spill popcorn on our new carpets."

"If you do, you're cleaning each and every buttery, greasy stain."

"Okay."

"With your _tongue_."

"You're actually a sadist, aren't you?"

"Don't spill and you won't have to find out."

"I'm starting the movie now."

"Go let Solomon in first."

"Oh my god, _fine_. Don't eat my popcorn."

"I'm not going to eat your popcorn—Solomon, Solomon, no!"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"_All. Over. The. Carpet_."

"Yeah, but it wasn't my fault."

"Travis…"

"It wasn't! Solomon knocked the bowl over!"

"That is true."

"So I don't have to clean it up."

"You do. You're the one who lets him on the couch when you think I'm not watching."

"…I hate you."

"No you don't."

"Yeah, you're right. I love you."

"Aww, that's sweet. But you're still cleaning this up."

* * *

_**JANUARY**_

Something is shaking him. Wes grunts and swats at the annoying thing with one half-hearted arm. The thing does not stop shaking him.

"Wes! Wake up!"

"What?" Wes lifts his head, glares at the alarm clock, then glares at his husband over his shoulder. "What did you wake me at 1 AM for?"

Travis looks towards the window, still gently shaking Wes's shoulder. "I heard a noise."

Wes blinks, shrugging Travis's hand off. "_What_?"

"A noise." Travis's face is intensely earnest in the thin moonlight coming through the window. "Outside. Come on, grab your gun, let's investigate!" Considering how often Travis complains when Wes wakes him early, he sure has a lot of energy when he leaps out of bed in his boxers and undershirt. He plunges his hand in the side drawer for his gun, creeping out of the bedroom in bare feet.

Wes stares after him. Solomon wuffles, lifting his head a fraction of an inch, and Wes sighs, patting the dog's side. "Go back to bed, buddy. I'll be right back." Grumbling, Wes climbs out of bed and grabs his own gun, following his husband with less caution.

Travis is waiting by the base of the stairs, gun ready, head cocked. "You ready?" he asks, eyes bright with the chase. Wes yawns and waves a hand in a _Get on with it_ motion, gun at his side. "Okay. You go out the back, I'll go out the front, and we'll pincer him in the middle. Got it?" With a determined nod, he darts to the front door. Wes rolls his eyes and pads to the back, slipping on a pair of sandals and unlatching the door.

The backyard is quiet, and he can barely see enough to get by without turning on the porch light. It's probably just another false alarm, but he steps off the porch into the grass anyway, because if he doesn't he knows he'll never hear the end of it.

And then he hears a noise.

Adrenaline surges; his pulse quickens, his breathing evens, and he leans into the balls of his feet, moving along the side of the house in a silent scuttle.

The noise comes again, a sort of dulled, metallic clatter. Wes pauses at the corner of the house, counting silently. _One…two…three…_

On three, confident that his partner is going to be in place, Wes swings around the corner, gun out. "Freeze!" he shouts, just as Travis, at the other end of the house, hits the switch and the floodlights come on.

The calico cat on the fallen garbage can freezes, every hair on its body bristling, and Wes's eye twitches.

"Dammit Travis!"

Travis comes jogging up as Wes is sliding his gun into his waistband. The cat takes one look at Travis, shakes itself, and saunters away as though nothing happens. Travis looks at the retreating cat, the fallen garbage can and scattered garbage, and the annoyed look on Wes's face, and gives a sheepish grin.

"I told you I heard something, didn't I?"

"You did," Wes drawls, "and I'm so glad you saved us from the terrors of the neighbor's cat. But dammit, it's one in the morning! We have work tomorrow!"

"You can never be too careful, Wes!"

Wes turns on his heel, waving a hand. "I'm going back to bed. _You're_ cleaning this up." It's a fitting punishment for the crime, Wes thinks.

"What? Why?!"

"Because this is the _third_ time this month you've woken me up for _nothing_." Wes gives Travis the stink eye over his shoulder. "The neighbors are starting to leave politely angry letters in our mailbox. You know how I _hate_ politely angry letters, Travis."

"But—"

"Have fun!" Wes calls, waving a jaunty hand over his shoulder. "If Solomon takes over your side of the bed, you only have yourself to blame when you sleep on the couch."

Right as he goes inside, Wes hears Travis kick the trash can. He just rolls his eyes and heads back to bed.

* * *

_**FEBRUARY**_

"What is that?"

Travis looks at the basket in his hands. "It's my half of the grocery list."

Wes blinks. "No, it's not." He points at the red Lucky Charms box sticking out of the basket. "That was not on the list."

Travis looks at the basket again, then shrugs. "Well, yeah, okay, _that_ wasn't on the list. But I got everything else you wanted." He tilts the basket so Wes can see that yes, Travis _did_ get everything else on the list.

"You got the list, that's great, but you can't just add _extra_ things."

"Sure I can." Travis starts unloading his basket into Wes's cart. "I just thought about what we were out of, and I said 'Oh, cereal!' and then I got some."

"Cereal is on the list," Wes says, mentally checking off the things Travis is putting in the cart. Just to make sure Travis got everything.

"_Your _cereal is on the list," Travis corrects, looking dubiously at the whole-grain fiber oats in Wes's cart. "But mine wasn't. So I added it."

Wes's eye twitches. "No. Put it back."

"Wes…"

"You lost the right to just _add_ things when you started rearranging the soda cases to make pictures."

Travis holds up a finger. "Okay, that motorcycle was amazing. It was _way _better than anything they could have come up with. And I wouldn't have been rearranging the soda cases if I hadn't gotten bored waiting for you to finish in the produce."

"Finding the right melon—"

"Babe, you spent twenty minutes comparing cantaloupe. _No_." Like that's the end of the discussion, Travis clutches the Lucky Charms box to his chest. "I'm buying the cereal."

Wes looks at his husband. He looks at the red box. He looks at his cart.

He sighs. "Fine. But you're paying separately. I don't have a coupon for that."

Travis snorts as Wes wheels the cart in line. "You know, for all your taste in expensive cars and classy suits, I never would have expected you to be a coupon clipper."

"Saving money in mundane things means I can spend it on cars and suits," Wes explains, pulling out his coupon book.

Travis snorts again. "Just admit it. You're just stingy."

"I prefer the term _frugal_," Wes says, unloading the cart onto the conveyor belt.

"Sure you do," Travis drawls, eyeing the groceries on the belt. "And since this is going to take a while, I'm gonna go use the express lane. Come find me in the electronics section when you're done."

Travis saunters off with his box of cereal under his arm. Wes just shakes his head and hands the wad of coupons to the cashier.

* * *

_**MARCH**_

Travis can't get to sleep.

After ten months, he's not used to being alone in bed. Oh, there's Solomon, but he's usually on the other side of the bed, with Wes in the middle. Now Wes is gone, away to San Francisco to help the FBI with a case, and Travis is stuck here because he happened to get a little bit shot last week.

Travis sighs and rolls over, careful not to pull the stitches on his ribs too hard. This is ridiculous. Travis should be able to sleep. He spent years sleeping alone before he ever got together with Wes, he should be able to do it now. And it's not like Travis can't sleep because his cuddle-bunny isn't there; _Wes_ is the cuddly one, not Travis, as evidenced by the pictures on Travis's phone, so it absolutely shouldn't be a problem that Wes _isn't_ here.

He thumps his head on the pillow and lets out a groan of frustration. "This is stupid," he says to the ceiling.

Solomon huffs out a breath on the other side of the bed. Travis glances over to see the dog staring back at him, liquid brown eyes open and looking all sorts of sad. Travis sighs and reaches over. "I miss him too, buddy."

The dog snuffles a little closer with a sad little whine, and Travis wraps an arm around the dog. Not because he wants someone to cuddle. It's for the dog. All for the dog. Yeah.

It's just not the same.

It's almost one, and Travis has just about resigned himself to watching TV for the rest of the night when the phone rings. It sounds like a siren in the near-silent house; Travis jumps and curses as his stitches pull painfully.

"_What?_" he hisses once he finally answers the phone, clutching his side.

There's silence on the other end.

"Hello?" Travis demands, and he's going to be really pissed if someone decided to prank-call him at _one in the morning_. He's already making plans to have Kendall pull the phone log when the person on the other end speaks.

"I couldn't sleep," Wes says, and all the tension in Travis leaks away at the sound of his husband's voice.

"Neither could I," Travis admits, slumping back into bed. Solomon perks up; Travis gently pushes the big dog's nose out of his face. "Solomon says hi."

Wes chuckles, and Travis can hear rustling as Wes lays down too. "Hi Solomon," Wes murmurs affectionately. A slow smile hovers on Travis's face, and it only gets wider when Wes asks, "How are you doing?"

"I'm alright. Gotta be careful not to roll around too much, but I'm doing alright."

"That's good." More rustling as Wes shifts around. "The case is going well. If we keep going at this rate, I might be home in two days."

"That's great," Travis exclaims while trying not to be dismayed at the thought of another night like tonight.

"Yeah," Wes agrees, and then they both fall silent. It's not an awkward silence, though. Travis is content listening to Wes breathe, and Wes seems content to do the same.

Travis doesn't know who falls asleep first. He just knows he wakes up with the phone pressed against his ear and Solomon draped over his legs.

As he pushes the dog off, he checks his phone a sees a new text message. When he opens it, he can't help but smile.

There's just a single line of text from Wes.

_Talk to you tonight._

* * *

_**APRIL**_

"Travis! Marks!"

Travis knows he's in trouble the second Wes's voice rings out. He debates running for his life, but he'll have to come home eventually, and Wes knows where he lives. Also, Solomon is lying on his feet.

"Solomon, save me!" Travis hisses as Wes's feet stomp down the stairs. The big dog simply lifts his head, gives him a lazy stare, and rolls over. Still on his feet. Thanks a lot, dog.

Wes storms into the living room, a wadded-up something in his hands. A wet something, Travis learns, as Wes lobs the thing directly into his face.

"Travis! What is _that_?!"

Travis removes the wet soggy thing from his face and studies his husband. Wes is red-faced and his voice is a little shrill, which only happens when he's _really_ losing it. Travis decides to tread carefully.

He looks at the thing in his hands. Un-wads it. Holds it up.

"It's a shirt." The look on Wes's face tells Travis that this is not the right answer. He tries again. "It's _your_ shirt."

"Why is it _wet_?" Wes shrieks, stomping over to the couch. Solomon does the wise thing and rolls out of the way. Travis doesn't get the same chance before Wes is _right there_ in his face, murder glittering in his eyes. He hisses, in a voice full of venom, _"You did the laundry."_

Travis blinks. "Uh…" He looks down at the wet shirt in his hands. "Yes?" When he looks back up, Wes looks like he's about to have an aneurism, so Travis tries to smooth things over. "I wanted to help! You always get on me about not doing enough chores—which, for the record, I avoid because you always come along after me and redo it all anyway—so I did the laundry because it was just sitting out. But look, I made sure to sort the colors and the whites and I made _absolutely_ certain that we wouldn't have a repeat of the pink underwear thing again." He grins winningly.

Wes stares at him, doing that eye-twitching thing of his. Finally he leans back, pacing angrily in front of the couch. "You have no idea what you did."

"I _helped_."

"No, Travis, you did _not_." Wes snatches the shirt out of Travis's hands. "Did you sort the specials?"

"The what?"

"The specials, Travis. Things that can't go in the wash. Jeans, your leather jacket, _two hundred dollar silk shirts_." He shakes the shirt at Travis's face. "Do you know what happens when you toss a two hundred dollar silk shirt in the wash, Travis?"

Travis eyes the shirt dubiously. "Um…no?"

"It's _ruined! _It shrunk at least a size and a half, and I will _never_ get these wrinkles out, and feel this—" Wes chucks the shirt at Travis's head again. "—the fabric will _never_ feel the same because you just _did the laundry!_"

Travis holds the wet shirt in his hands and stares at his husband and feels a little bit bad that _this_ is what finally made Wes snap. Not a psychotic criminal, not the horrors of their job, but a ruined shirt in the laundry.

"I'm sorry," he offers, because if there's one thing he's learned, it's to always apologize. As Clyde said in therapy a few months ago, apologies make a marriage run smooth.

Wes glares at him. Travis gets a feeling he's going to be sleeping on the couch for a long time.

"That's not good enough," Wes growls, snatching the shirt back and turning away.

"But I was helping!"

"Stop helping!" Wes shouts as he stomps out of the room. "You're never doing laundry again!"

Travis pauses. Considers. Calls after Wes, "Can I have that in writing?"

Wes's annoyed roar follows him up the stairs.

* * *

_**MAY**_

Wes wakes when Solomon jumps off the bed, and it's just another day. Then he turns his head and sees Travis staring at him with a goofy smile on his face.

"What?"

Travis's eyes go soft, and he runs one hand down Wes's shoulder, down the elbow and wrist. "We made it," he murmurs, and slides his fingers between Wes's, and that's when Wes remembers.

Wes can't quite help the gentle grin on his own face as he brings their linked hands to his face. "We made it," he agrees, pressing a series of kisses across Travis's knuckles. He drops their hands on the pillow between them, silver rings glinting in the morning sun. "But that's not the hard part."

"No?" Travis asks, wiggling closer. "Do tell, mister formerly-married-man of mine."

Wes huffs a laugh and bumps their foreheads together, squeezing his husband's hand. "The hard part is making it through the next year. And the year after that. And all the years after that. It's not as easy as you'd think."

Travis just leans in for a kiss and declares, "We can do it."

Wes shoots him an annoyed glare. "You can't guarantee that. Relationships change, people drift apart. There are no guarantees."

"But there's us." Travis laughs, that warm, belly-deep laugh Wes loves. "For such a smart man, you can be awfully dim sometimes."

"Hey—!"

Travis shuts him up with a kiss, and he's smiling when he pulls away. "Wes. We've faced down serial killers and dirty cops and _couple's counseling_. As long as we're together, we're invincible. The next fifty years are going to be a breeze."

"Fifty?" Wes snorts, untangling their fingers to run his hand over the thin white scar on Travis's ribs. "If you're planning for fifty, then you can't keep getting shot." Unspoken are all the things Wes doesn't say, because he's never needed to say them. Travis knows them all anyway.

Travis just smiles and links their fingers together again. "I'll work on that," he promises, which is just as solid a vow as the ones they shared on their wedding day.

The moment is broken by Solomon's urgent barking to be let out, and they both share quiet chuckles. Travis gives Wes one last quick kiss before climbing out of bed, and Wes can hear him stomping down the stairs and calling, "Shut up, ya mutt!" with all the affection in the world in his voice.

Wes holds out his hand and looks at his ring. He never thought he'd be here again, much less with _Travis_, but now that he is…there's definitely nowhere else he'd rather be.

_Happy anniversary, love._

**OOOO**

**I formed all sorts of wonderfully domestic headcanons for the boys while writing this fic. It was fun.**

**I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. Adorable domestic!married!Wesvis makes my heart cry happy tears of joy.**

**Since we only have, like, two canon lines about what Wes's parents were like, I made stuff up. I made a lot of stuff up. That's what fanfiction is for. Still, just putting that out there.**

**Anyway, I would love it if you left me a review or comment and let me know what you thought.**

**Until next time!**


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